John's Story Page 8

  “I suppose we had best start heading back,” Polycarp said, but as they turned around John became aware of a commotion on Curetes Street.

  “Not again,” the old man said. “Cerinthus.”

  “Ignore him,” Polycarp said. “Your best effort against him is what we are doing at the house.”

  “I cannot pull myself away,” John said, and he moved to stand at the back of the crowd, heart pounding and chest tightening even more. As soon as John positioned himself, Cerinthus noticed him.

  “Is it not John, the last of Jesus’ disciples? Are you beginning to see the light, old man? Seeing the wisdom of youth, of a fresh perspective? Would that you would become a disciple of mine.”

  John wanted to shout, “Never!” as rage overtook him again. The crowd was growing and would soon be larger than the one that had gathered outside the stadium. All these people being led astray! John had spent his life teaching of salvation by grace through faith, and in a matter of a few months this blasphemer could ruin everything. People wanted to play a part in their own salvation by weighing their good deeds against their bad, somehow earning heaven. But John knew that was futile. As Paul had said, “There is none righteous, no not one.”

  John allowed Polycarp to pull him away before he said anything, but it took the entire walk back to the house church before his pulse returned to normal and he stopped panting.

  As they reached his chamber, John motioned Polycarp to the desk. “Not that I needed it,” he said, “but God has provided even more impetus to carry on. Let’s begin immediately.”

  “What comes next?” Polycarp said. “How long were you with Jesus before you witnessed a miracle?”

  “Only a few days. He had been invited, we all had, to the wedding of a friend of Jesus’ best friend, Lazarus. You should have seen those two together. They could talk seriously, of course. Often they would get away to pray together. But the good humor too! How they laughed. They would wrestle, tease each other, and they even tricked each other just for fun.”

  “Jesus did this too?”

  “Of course! Oh, He was a serious Man, yes. A Man of sorrows, the Scriptures say, and acquainted with grief. But he was also able to find joy and laughter. Lazarus was with us the night we sat around a fire on the shore in Galilee and Jesus slapped at something on His neck, then slowly pulled His hand away and toward the light of the flames to reveal that He had crushed a biting insect.

  “No one thought anything of it until He studied the tiny creature in his palm, then carefully rolled it over with His thumb. As He sat there, seeming amused at our reactions, He held out his palm for all to see that the bug had been restored to life. It soon flew away.”

  “You must put that in your account.”

  “Only if the Spirit leads. Later, before James and I retired, we talked long into the night about what we had seen. Finally my brother concluded, ‘It only makes sense, John. If He is who the baptizer said He is, and if He is who He said He is, He created the world and everything in it. That gives Him power over life and death.’”

  “And so then He began healing people all over the area?”

  “Not yet. He often said His time had not yet come. We never knew what to make of that. He even said that to His mother at the wedding when she asked Him to act. That shocked me. It sounded disrespectful at first, but she plainly did not take it that way. It was almost as if she hadn’t heard it. Perhaps she understood Him at some deeper level.”

  “We must get all this down, teacher,” Polycarp said, quill in hand.

  “Not all of it. Just the important things. Let readers glean from it what they will. The wedding at Cana was on our third day there. Jesus and all His disciples were invited. Mary, Jesus’ mother, came and whispered to Him—in my hearing, as I sat on one side of Him and Lazarus on the other—‘They have no wine.’

  “Now, I thought it strange that she would tell Him that, and apparently so did Jesus. He said, ‘Woman, what does your concern have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.’

  “But Mary, without another word, said to the servants, ‘Whatever He says to you, do it.’

  “There were set there six waterpots of stone, according to the manner of purification of the Jews, containing twenty or thirty gallons apiece. Jesus said to the servants, ‘Fill the waterpots with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. And He said to them, ‘Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.’

  “When the master of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and did not know where it came from (but the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom. And he said, ‘Every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then the inferior. You have kept the good wine until now!’

  “Polycarp, if any of us had had any doubts about who Jesus was, they were gone. He had manifested His glory, and we all believed in Him.”

  “I can only imagine,” Polycarp said quietly. “Who could not have believed after that? Seeing it must have seemed like a dream to you.”

  “It did, and yet it was so real. And do not forget, we did not only tell this tale and some of us write it, but we also were among those who tasted the wine. Do you have an inkling what such must have tasted like? I have not had its like since. It was as if the grapes had been plucked plump, directly from vines in the sun, and pressed just before pouring, and yet the nectar hit our tongues as if it had been aged not only to the perfect season, but also to the perfect day, yea the perfect hour. You know, Polycarp, that the Greeks believe wine is the life-giving drink of the gods. Well, in this case, it is no myth. Little wonder that Jesus would later use the cup to represent His life-giving blood.

  “I hope without my being overly didactic I am making clear the point of all this. Do you see the import of Jesus’ actions here, and why I include this?”

  “Tell me.”

  “This was clearly a miracle, but it did not save a life, did not still a storm. It merely saved a host from embarrassment. On the other hand, it did so much more. It established Jesus as divine. He was a miracle worker and showed Himself as the very source of life. That’s why I conclude that it was the beginning of signs.

  “After this He, His mother, His brothers, and we disciples went down to Capernaum, and we stayed in Peter’s home. But we were soon on our way. Passover was at hand, and Jesus told us it had been His custom since childhood to spend it in Jerusalem. I daresay, Polycarp, while this was early in our time with Him, it quickly became one of the most momentous. To be frank, we wondered if He could be pushed to anger. He was a man’s man, don’t get me wrong. He had the muscle and sinew and skin of a man who had worked all His life with His hands. But He was so soft-spoken, so kind, we talked among ourselves about whether He would be a good mate should trouble ever break out. He appeared strong and agile enough, but that is not what struck you when you looked at Him.”

  “What struck you?”

  “His eyes. As I’ve said, He was not a particularly handsome man, but there was something in his countenance, in his eyes, that seemed able to bore into your soul, your heart, your mind. He asked each of us about ourselves frequently, but we never once had the impression He was asking questions to which He did not already know the answers. And whenever any of us embellished our own backgrounds, not lying—certainly not that, but, you know, shading a story to make ourselves look more godly or devout—a look of amusement came over Him and we were forced, without a word from Him, to correct our account right then.

  “But nothing seemed to bother Him. When things went wrong, as they often did with that many men traveling here and there, He never seemed to trouble Himself over His own comfort. But, I mean, He was the man! The leader. We were His followers. And yet He worried more about us and our comfort.

  “Well, I must say, whatever image we had formed of Him changed soon after we arrived in Jerusalem. Being fishermen, James and I preferred solitude to the bustling crowds at the feast, but they se
emed to invigorate the Lord. His eyes lit up and He was reminded of stories of Passovers past, especially the now famous one when He was twelve and His parents lost track of him shortly after their departure. He was pointing out the broad streets where He and his brothers had run and played, and as we neared the great temple He appeared deep in thought before telling us of how He had found it so fascinating to talk with the elders. In truth, of course, He had taught them and astounded them.

  “But as we reached the outer courts His demeanor changed. His face flushed, His jaw was set. There were no more stories as His eyes flashed this way and that, taking in all the commerce being conducted in the stalls where men were selling oxen and sheep and doves. The money changers were doing a brisk business.

  “As we watched, transfixed, Jesus made a whip of cords and drove them all out of the temple, with their sheep and the oxen, and poured out the changers’ money and overturned their tables.

  “And He said to those who sold doves, ‘Take these things away! Do not make My Father’s house a house of merchandise!’

  “That’s when James grabbed my garment and pulled me close, whispering the old Scripture, ‘Zeal for Your house has eaten Me up.’”

  “Where was that written, teacher?” Polycarp said. “And what does it mean?”

  “Jesus had read it to us Himself from the Psalms and explained that at the time of the writing, David was being attacked from all sides because of his zeal toward the house of God and his defense of the Lord. You know Paul wrote of this to the believers in Rome, quoting David further, ‘The reproaches of those who reproached You fell on Me.’ Well, I tell you, Polycarp, that’s what we feared would happen, that the Roman soldiers would intercede on behalf of the money changers and make an example of Jesus. But the Lord had somehow succeeded in not making a scene. He was simply determined and forthright, and the offenders were alarmed that He spoke to them as if they reported to Him.”

  “That must have been amazing.”

  “As I say, we had not seen Him angry. He had been so kind and friendly and engaging, carrying himself as a much older, wiser man than one of about age thirty. He was but five years older than I, and yet I always felt I was in the presence of a sage.”

  “But when something irritated him…”

  John nodded. “Yes, His blood could boil. But it was always over the reputation of His Father.”

  “How did the merchants respond?”

  “Why, of course they wanted to know who He thought He was. They said, ‘What sign do You show to us, since You do these things?’

  “Jesus said, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’

  “And the Jewish leaders said, ‘It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will You raise it up in three days?’”

  “That’s what I would have said,” Polycarp said. “What did He mean?”

  “He was speaking of the temple of His body. And while I hesitate to get ahead of myself, later, when He had risen from the dead, we remembered that He had said this to us, and we believed the Scripture and the words He had spoken.”

  “This all came back to you at His resurrection?”

  John nodded. “Indeed, and it was of great comfort to us. Gradually all these memories came to us, and we marveled at the truths He had scattered in our paths every day of those three years. He often said that those who had ears would hear—meaning they would understand, of course. But we later recognized that we must not have had ears. He tried to tell us many times that He had been sent only to do the will of His Father, and He even made clear that this would mean His own death. But we heard only what we wanted to hear.”

  “Now, you said that the authorities were not aware of what He had done at Passover, but with the city teeming, word must have spread to the people.”

  “Oh, yes! And many believed in His name when they saw the signs He did. But Jesus did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men, and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man.”

  “I am not following, teacher. What are you saying?”

  “You rightly question this, son, as I did at the time. I recall being perplexed that Jesus did not seem to revel in the adoration of the crowds. He was already healing people and speaking such profound mysteries that people began flocking to hear and see Him wherever He went. I could only put myself in His place and imagine how fulfilling it would have been to have people gaze with such wonder and devotion. Yet it was clear He did not go out of His way to endear Himself to any. He seemed above it, not with any air of conceit, but rather as if He distrusted mere humans. We disciples had already proven less than worthy companions, and if we who were beginning to know Him so well could not be thoroughly trusted, He certainly wasn’t about to cater to the whims of the public.”

  “But you say”—Polycarp referred back to his writing—“that ‘He knew all men, and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man.’ I realize that means He didn’t need their applause or their affirmation, but what was it that He ‘knew’ was ‘in man’?”

  “Oh, I believe we know, do we not, son? Were we not both reminded of what is truly in us, at our core, when we presented ourselves to the living God for His service? I hate to see myself in His light. And if we who have given our lives for His service can be brought so low by such a peering into our souls, imagine what must be in the hearts of people who had just been introduced to Him.

  “All they knew of Him were His impressive speeches and His miracles. No one I know had witnessed a miracle in our lifetime. These people did not know the Man. And any lauding of His person or character would have sprung from their own, frail, human perspectives. No, the Messiah was not looking for the approval of men.”

  “That must have frustrated them,” Polycarp said. “I can envision them, as I can see myself, hoping to get near Him, to speak a word or hear one directed solely at me. I would have wanted to be able to say I had interacted with the Man who had become the spectacle at Passover in Jerusalem.”

  John nodded. “Yes. I confess I myself was proud to be seen in His very presence and recognized as one of His. As I reflect on it, however, I doubt anyone really looked at the men surrounding Him. He alone was the object of the crowd’s desire.”

  NINE

  That Tuesday evening, John excused Polycarp to join Ignatius for the teaching of the people. The crowd the night before had been larger than the Lord’s Day gathering, and the deaconate felt Polycarp was needed in case even more arrived for this meeting.

  John took his dinner alone in his quarters and found himself strangely melancholy. He tried to put out of his mind the discomfort in his chest and blamed his mood on the fact that he was used to having his young disciple with him. Polycarp, always a bright student, had proved an ideal companion for this difficult work, asking just the right questions and exhibiting a contagious enthusiasm for every anecdote. John looked forward to getting to get her with him and with Ignatius again before bedtime.

  John had been told that some had asked for him the evening before, so he was not surprised when a small boy was dispatched to seek him out again now. “Oh, please tell them that I appreciate their kind invitation but that I am in the middle of a complex project and must beg their pardon. Perhaps one evening later this week I will feel up to joining them.”

  John lit another small lamp on the desk and reviewed Polycarp’s careful handwriting. He reminded himself to encourage the young man. The script was clear and legible, and as John read it over he was again transported to Galilee and the most remarkable season of his life. And he knew what story must come next, one that only he was privy to, and thus one that had not appeared on papyrus before. Fortunately, John believed he remembered every detail, and short of that, he trusted the Holy Spirit to remind him.

  Hearing no music from below, John realized that Ignatius and Polycarp had eschewed the singing that evening in the interest of immediately digging in to the text of one of Paul’
s epistles. The old man was grateful for Ignatius and his willingness to devote this time to John’s own flock. Ignatius had come to faith and to a calling to serve God from a place almost as unusual as that of the missionary Paul. He had not been religiously devout, however, as Paul had. That zealousness had led to Paul—then known as Saul—persecuting and even killing Christians. Ignatius had been thoroughly pagan, but he too had been a reviler of believers.

  That he had come to faith in Christ from such a background, and the obvious change in his behavior, allowed John to trust him implicitly to render Paul’s writings understandable for the believers. If only the three of them—John, Ignatius, and Polycarp—could make the Ephesian saints as interested in shunning the heresies of Cerinthus!

  JOHN NODDED OFF and roused two hours later when sounds reached him of people chatting and milling about on their way out of the house. Many still had questions for the leaders, and John was pleased to hear both Ignatius and Polycarp promise to get to those another night. Soon their welcome footsteps mounted the stairs.

  “Ah, Ignatius,” John said, as the bishop set a plate of fruit and cheese on his table and laid a small knife beside it, “you always seem to anticipate my needs.”

  Polycarp smiled and Ignatius said, “Truth be told, I am merely the bearer of the vittles. The idea was the redhead’s here.”

  “My thanks to you then, Polycarp,” John said. “Please, gentlemen, sit. I want to tell you a story neither of you has heard before. Indeed, I do not believe I have shared it with anyone but my brother so many years ago. Are you up to it?”

  “Up to it?” Ignatius said. “Teacher, after what Polycarp has related to me already, I feel as if I will burst if I cannot sit here whilst you dictate some of this. Please. My ears are yours until you have run out of things to say.”

  “Or until I collapse onto my bed.”

  “Shall I record this?” Polycarp said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. My intention was to simply tell you both what happened, and then we can cover it tomorrow. Let me begin without having to slow for the quill, and you tell me whether it’s worth recording.”